Solstice, highs and lows
I keep looking at this photo and wondering whether I like it enough to show. There are so many wonderful elements, but poor little Zelda is so distraught in the midst of it all.
Recently a photo of mine was published in Yes! magazine. It was chosen because it showed a family together, in a way that felt real, not posed — not smiling cheesily into the camera. I'm really happy with that photo, and it's been most gratifying to hear from so many friends and colleagues that they've noticed and enjoyed the photo in the magazine.
One friend suggested that I should make more photographs of families, because she thought that photo was so true and real. And I agree. But the thing is, the only way you're going to get photos of real, true families is to be with those families, and know them. I imagine there are a lot of photographs of crying kids from professional family photography sessions. But that's not what I'm talking about. And I have seen some absolutely incredible kid photos shot by professional photographers — but that's not what I'm talking about, either.
But a photo like the one I took for Yes!, and like this one, only happens because all of us, photographer and subject, were engaged in some kind of activity together. I think about this kind of thing a lot as I begin to initiate more photo projects and portrait shoots. I don't think I can have the same casual, intimate feeling that I get with photos made while spending time with friends. In one case, the event is initiated, and photos are made during it. In another case, the initiated event is the making of the photos, and whatever else (coffee, rainy backyards, Mt. Tabor) happens because of the photos. In both cases I am (literally) shooting for the same thing.
The story behind this photograph is, well, kind of ridiculous. I was sitting there at our bountiful Solstice table, waiting for everyone to fill their plate before I got started. I was checking the film speed and the bounce flash and stopping down the lens more than I really wanted to (note to self: use slow film with bounce flash, not 1600ASA!). I got everything set up and then composed a shot, intending to include all the things before me: the bones from the short ribs, the shiny tongs, the dark glass of wine... and of course the people sitting and standing around the dining room. I had the frame about where I wanted it and was fiddling with the exposure, staring at that candle, when I heard Zelda screaming. I fired the shutter (and made a flash, which can't have helped Zelda's frame of mind) and then put the camera down and went to see what was going on. Zelda had got stuck between the chair and the chair back, and her mom was trying to get her out. After some fiddling and more screaming, the matter was resolved. I still feel a bit stupid that I was sitting across the table, tweaking my dials and firing my flash when this poor kid was trapped in one of our leaden chairs. But it's one of those photographs that isn't going to happen any other way.
Solstice, highs and lows
I keep looking at this photo and wondering whether I like it enough to show. There are so many wonderful elements, but poor little Zelda is so distraught in the midst of it all.
Recently a photo of mine was published in Yes! magazine. It was chosen because it showed a family together, in a way that felt real, not posed — not smiling cheesily into the camera. I'm really happy with that photo, and it's been most gratifying to hear from so many friends and colleagues that they've noticed and enjoyed the photo in the magazine.
One friend suggested that I should make more photographs of families, because she thought that photo was so true and real. And I agree. But the thing is, the only way you're going to get photos of real, true families is to be with those families, and know them. I imagine there are a lot of photographs of crying kids from professional family photography sessions. But that's not what I'm talking about. And I have seen some absolutely incredible kid photos shot by professional photographers — but that's not what I'm talking about, either.
But a photo like the one I took for Yes!, and like this one, only happens because all of us, photographer and subject, were engaged in some kind of activity together. I think about this kind of thing a lot as I begin to initiate more photo projects and portrait shoots. I don't think I can have the same casual, intimate feeling that I get with photos made while spending time with friends. In one case, the event is initiated, and photos are made during it. In another case, the initiated event is the making of the photos, and whatever else (coffee, rainy backyards, Mt. Tabor) happens because of the photos. In both cases I am (literally) shooting for the same thing.
The story behind this photograph is, well, kind of ridiculous. I was sitting there at our bountiful Solstice table, waiting for everyone to fill their plate before I got started. I was checking the film speed and the bounce flash and stopping down the lens more than I really wanted to (note to self: use slow film with bounce flash, not 1600ASA!). I got everything set up and then composed a shot, intending to include all the things before me: the bones from the short ribs, the shiny tongs, the dark glass of wine... and of course the people sitting and standing around the dining room. I had the frame about where I wanted it and was fiddling with the exposure, staring at that candle, when I heard Zelda screaming. I fired the shutter (and made a flash, which can't have helped Zelda's frame of mind) and then put the camera down and went to see what was going on. Zelda had got stuck between the chair and the chair back, and her mom was trying to get her out. After some fiddling and more screaming, the matter was resolved. I still feel a bit stupid that I was sitting across the table, tweaking my dials and firing my flash when this poor kid was trapped in one of our leaden chairs. But it's one of those photographs that isn't going to happen any other way.